


Ménage à Deux

by indefensibleselfindulgence



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (I guess?) - Freeform, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Typical Weirdness, Do Not Archive, F/M, M/M, Other, POV Multiple, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Vague Body Horror, adoration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 17:30:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16433756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefensibleselfindulgence/pseuds/indefensibleselfindulgence
Summary: Jon doesn't know at what point there are two of them.





	Ménage à Deux

**Author's Note:**

> two clarifying things: 
> 
> they're both still spiral avatars they just exist at the same time
> 
> gender is fuck and i think i refer to both of them in every single way possible don't stress the details too much
> 
> not beta'd

“I-I feel like at some point o-one of you assumed that I know what I'm doing.”  
  
Helen looks at Michael and Michael looks at Helen, separate bodies for a moment like this. Michael laughs for them, and the Archivist's tiny mostly human, mostly weak body shudders under their hands.  
  
“Oh, Archivist.” Michael purrs in his own way that Helen could never replicate and would never bother to try. “We don't assume very much of you at all.”  
  
Lie, they flag to themselves, but Helen drags her nails over his legs. Nonchalant is key. Telegraph nothing, leave him guessing. Michael had been playing at him longer, and Michael knows what the Archivist enjoys. Helen also knows what the Archivist enjoys, but she's not brought it up yet. No need to rush, they have the entire world to themselves.  
  
“I'm- Mm--”  
  
“We'll take care of you.” When she looks up, Michael's hand is over the Archivist's mouth, and his eyes are fluttering closed. The Archivist makes a sound, and Michael shushes him again.“Trust us. Have we ever lied to you, Archivist?”  
  
“His eyelashes are nice.” She says, and Michael nods in agreement. The way they flutter against his skin is undeniably wonderful. Most of the Archivist is wonderful.  
  
They're glad they agree. But then, they never argue over him.  
  
Helen rests her head on the Archivist's thigh. It's a little cramped under the desk, but they can make do. There's not a lot of room in the Archives for this sort of thing, but Michael wanted too, and she had to admit she wouldn't mind either. Finally, erase the awful still human memory of this place. Replace it with themselves and their Archivist.  
  
To say nothing for the thrum of aggressive satisfaction coming from her counterpart. He has awful memories of this room too, and he has so many more of them that he has to paint over. And if they remain here for hours or days, then so be it.  
  
“Take these off.” She says, fingers playing with the cuff of his trousers. She thinks for a moment. “You didn't like it when I ruined them last time.”  
  
There it is- the beautiful bloom across the Archivist's chest they were waiting for, blotting out every other ounce of him. Her teeth can rend the fabric of his pants to ribbons, so can her hands, but the Archivist is so delicate, she shouldn't play around sensitive parts.  
  
Michael doesn't share her concerns, but she is the one between the Archivist's legs.  
  
She can watch the Archivist's own clumsy fingers work at the buttons for hours. There's something so endearing about it that she can't place- something that keeps the Archivist separate from them. When he finally manages, the Archivist tugs his trousers halfway down his thighs, and she presses her cheek into the newly available to her skin.  
  
Her hand settles on his other leg, Helen's nice manicured nails sinking into the meat as gently as she can.  
  
They don't breathe. If she tries very hard, she thinks she can remember what Helen remembers breathing to be like. It's all spotty for her, anything that isn't Michael's feedback loop and the corridors and the Archivist is spotty for her.  
  
They're not in a rush. She can enjoy looking at him for as long as she likes. The way his body hair stands on edge and the way the skin on his legs covers in tiny bumps. She wonders if this is something Helen paid attention to. Helen-for-now can't remember how many the body has been with. The smells and the heat of other humans on her- but the Archivist is enough.  
  
The pleased satisfaction comes from Michael- images of the Archivist's face staring down at her, flushed and short of breath already. Content content content.  
  
“Go ahead, Archivist. Are you waiting for an invitation?”  
   
The Archivist twitches at their voice and Helen can hear his pulse right up against her ear. Excited hammering, like a rabbit's.  
  
She watches his nervous hand curl around his cock and move, grip shifting every few seconds to offer something new.  
  
“Do you have to stare-”  
  
“What else do you want us to do?” Michael shifts, leaning over the edge of the Archivist's shoulders and splaying his fingers on the Archivist's chest.  
  
“We're learning.” She says, and they get to listen to the Archivist sigh. It's a lovely sound.  
  
His cock is leaking so Helen squeezes his thigh and takes him in her mouth. She's careful with the teeth, pressing them deeper into the body's gums. The Archivist is delicate, and she is nothing if not accommodating. He tastes sweet to her, even if it's bitter to Michael. Her tongue twists around against his cock until he starts making pleased noises and puts his clumsy fingers in their hair.  
  
It's so rare that he touches them.  
  
They're caught in a loop of satisfaction and adoration, and it makes something inside of them open.  
  
The Archivist likes it when she brings his cock to the back of her throat, so she does, pressing her nose into the coarse hair and she feels his hips move up, pressing it further and further against the muscle that should be there.  
  
The Archivist knew their bodies weren't always right, but he never complained. He would ask his questions sometimes, but he never complained.  
  
His soft, useless hands grip her hair tighter, so she keeps sucking and twisting her tongue around until he spills in her mouth with a gasp. Michael laughs quietly, face pressing against Jon's before Helen nudges the Archivist's desk chair back to share the taste. Michael stretches to meet her, and his tongue twists in her mouth, taking half back so they can ruminate on what their Archivist's nature is like.  
  
She spares the Archivist a glance, and he is exceptionally red-faced.  
  
He likes to watch too.  
  
But, then, that's his nature. And they could hardly fault him for it.  
  
“Would you like a taste as well, Archivist?”  
  
“Go on,” Michael tells her, and she kisses the Archivist as well. His tongue is shorter than theirs, and she can taste human food in his mouth. His teeth are dull, and they are reminded that he is so defenseless.  
  
The Archivist squirms at the taste of himself and Helen doesn't understand. But the Archivist doesn't push her away, instead holding her wrist tightly, so she lets herself into his lap. She weighs less then he does, and the Archivist weighs barely anything at all. But she is careful, regardless, so the back of her skirt doesn't press on anything important.  
  
She likes having her tongue in his mouth. She isn't sure why, but it's intimate in a way. She settles a hand on his chest.  
  
“Good?” She asks, even though the Archivist doesn't hide his enjoyment. His body projects pleasure loudly, and she is more than happy to listen.  
  
“Ah- Yes.” He says quietly, still red, almost to the tips of his ears now. “Yes- and you're-”  
  
“We're very good, Archivist,” Michael says as he moves to take her place beneath the desk slowly. She should move, let him enjoy as much as she had, the sensation of their 'skin' on his, the quick heartbeat, the soft hair. But he doesn't rush her. They are kind to each other. Especially about important things.  
  
She can feel the Archivist's heartbeat through her hand.  
  
There's a knock coming from outside the room, and the Archivist's heart speeds up even faster. Michael holds his hand out for her to take so that they can leave, let the Archivist do his work. Michael's irritation comes through clearly enough that it must be the Watcher.  
  
“We'll find you later, Archivist.” They say.  
  
They leave before they hear what he has to say.

  


  
Jon doesn't know at what point there are two of them.  
  
He watches Michael extinguish, and Helen pulls him through the corridors. He's clear on that. He's got that. He assumes the worst, and he isn't so much sad about Michael's death as he is confused by it. But there's a lot going on in his life, and he forgets.  
  
Helen visits two times before Michael comes back.  
  
They answer when he asks, but he's pretty sure they're just as confused as he is. They're separate but singular, two existences as an extension of Distortion with their own thoughts and feelings but similar thoughts and similar feelings. Still one door.  
  
They can disagree on things, though.  
  
People go missing more often when they disagree on things.  
  
Sometimes the people come back, and they don't look like people anymore.  
  
He gets called into Elias's office, later that day. He's never seen Elias angrier. The man is fuming, tapping at the wood of his desk and when Rosie lets Jon in, he stands and closes the door for her.  
  
“What did you do?”  
  
“E-What?”  
  
“This isn't cute, Jon.” Elias sits back down at his desk and leans forward. “You think I'm unaware of how much time you spend with the Spiral?”  
  
“You-” Of course. “You think I want to talk to them?”  
  
“Considering they keep stopping by I can't imagine you're doing a lot to dissuade the behavior.” He's about to ask what exactly Elias wants him to do about it when the phone on his desk rings.  
  
A woman brings her brother in, and the poor man can barely fit through a door, stretched out, thin and wrong. His hands drag on the floor behind him, and he can barely stand under the weight of himself. Elias stares at the man and then at Jon, crossing his arms and waiting. For what exactly? The man's neck cranes forward. Just looking at him gives Jon a migraine. Bones jut out at almost every angle, and the man's skin is stretched thin to accommodate it.  
  
Jon doesn't know what he's supposed to do with this, so he excuses himself and heads down to his office to beg one of them to take that thing upstairs back.  
  
Michael is already there, sitting on Jon's desk and waiting.  
  
“Gift,” Michael tells him, and its voice is irritated and sharp and makes Jon's vision go cloudy. “For you.”  
  
“From you?” He asks.  
  
“From Helen.” It says, and he worries.  
  
“C-Can I give- can you take it back?”  
  
“That's rude of you, Archivist. All the hard work.” The door is pressed into his back wall, and Jon can see it over Michael's shoulder. “Helen will be even sadder.”  
  
“She's sad?”  
  
“Mostly.”  
  
Michael disappears, and the door goes with it, and when he comes back to Elias' office, both the sister and the brother are gone.  
  
Elias is seething, and Jon packs up for the day to go home.

  


  
“Are you sure you want to-”  
  
“Of course I do, Archivist. Or we wouldn't be here.”  
  
The Archivist undresses him slowly, and he is still. He doesn't have to breath, and his chest doesn't rise even when the Archivist's hands run along the skin there. Just-Michael doesn't remember what their skin looks like. He's pretty sure Michael wasn't the sort to have someone else undress him. Helen sits on the side and waits for them to join her.  
  
“Just thought I'd ask.” He had already asked. Several times. How considerate their Archivist is.  
  
He lays flat on the bed, face pressed into the sheets, and the Archivist gets on the bed behind him. Helen watches the Archivist pull his trousers down and take himself in hand for Michael. He worries with a little bottle of something, smearing it on his hands and his cock and pulling himself to full hardness. He feels warm.  
  
It's an odd sensation. Being warm. Helen's string on joy is filled with an undercurrent of similar confusion. Maybe this is something Michael felt with his body. They've never experienced warmth before, all too familiar with a delicate breeze or the clammy heat of creation and destruction but comfortable warmth? It's new.  
  
Just-Michael likes being warm. Helen seems pleased with it too.  
  
“Our lives are eternal, but yours is temporary at the best of times so if you could get to it today Archivist-”  
  
The Archivist makes one of the noises they like hearing from him so much. He doesn't make it a lot, and they try to cherish it when they get to bear witness. His pleased little put-upon sigh that he does. Helen's joy blots out the sun. He's happy for her.  
  
Michael feels soft, useless hands on his thighs, spreading his legs apart and Michael doesn't fight it. The Archivist presses his cock inside, and there's no resistance to meet him.  
  
Their bodies are lighter then humans and they can only assume that is because they are missing fundamental human parts. The Archivist has expressed discomfort about it before, but now he seems pleased, sighing happily where useless Michael's ears are. Helen shivers at the sound. Michael isn't any better.  
  
“You feel good, Archivist,” Helen tells him, and Michael laughs.  
  
“Exceptionally so.” He tells him and reaches a hand back to run his fingers over the Archivist's side.  
  
“A-Are both of you-” It comes out breathier than usual- softer even.  
  
“Are we, Archivist?” Michael says over barely contained twisting laughter. “Do you think so? Might we be?”  
  
The Archivist rolls his hips and pushes in deeper, and Michael feels it at a distance. The solid dragging of skin on something like skin. The panting warm breath of the Archivist on his neck. His own fingers sinking into the soft side of the Archivist's thigh. Helen's staccato excitement.  
  
“Harder.” Her voice is distant and echoed, but the Archivist obliges them. His heat is searing inside. Michael can close his eyes and float on it, one point of contact, the one singular good. “Deeper.”  
  
“I-”  
  
“Deeper, Archivist. Or can't you?” He teases, snickering and the Archivist's hand move, digging into Michael's hips and spearing him. He imagines this must hurt for humans. But this just feels like a scratch being itched.  
  
Like unending, coiling, twisting satisfaction.    
  
Gasping, rushing, his hips jolt the last few times and he feels something spill inside of him before the Archivist pulls off of him. Or tries to, at least.  
  
“Stay.” Helen gets up from her spot and settles on the bed behind the Archivist, still dressed. She nudges his hips back into place with her knees, and the Archivist anguishes a moan.  
  
Michael twists around on his cock until he's facing them both and sits up as best he can, considering the position. He wants to be in his lap now, and the Archivist shifts to accommodate, warm back pressing against the front of Helen's clothes.  
  
Michael's hands fall over his shoulders.  
  
“We've got you, Archivist.” He says.  
  
“I'm aware.” The Archivist tells them, and Michael laughs and laughs and laughs.  
  
Face to face with him, he really is quite beautiful. Their pretty Archivist. Michael leans forward to kiss him and force his tongue down the Archivist's throat. It makes his voice raspier, and he claims to hate it, but the way he blooms red and gets hard inside of him dismantles the lie almost immediately. He tastes human.  
  
He tastes divine.  


  


  
Helen is already in his office by the time he gets to work in the morning.  
  
“Did you like the gift, Archivist?”  
  
Jon sets his bag down on one of the chairs and clears his throat.  
  
“Not- not as much.” He mumbles.  
  
“Michael told me you were upset. By my gift.”  
  
“I-” He looks at it. Less immaculate then real Helen. Hair frizzed out of the ponytail and edges of its designer clothing scuffed and frayed. The soles of its shoes are stained with something. He doesn't have to think too hard about what it could possibly be. “I didn't- yes. Yes, I was- you can't- I don't need something like that.”  
  
“Ah.” It says.  
  
And disappears.  
  
They both appear in his home later that night.  
  
There's blood dripping from their hands.  
  
“We're apologizing,” Helen tells him, before walking over and splaying her bloody hand on his face, and tugging him closer for a kiss. “You confuse us.”  
  
“We've been fighting, Archivist.” Michael is behind him, biting at the back of his neck, and he feels tiny nicks on his skin. “Over you.”  
  
“Oh.” Is about all he can say before her tongue is in his mouth.  
  
“We can't decide,” Michael says and doesn't bother to elaborate.  
  
“And we're hungry,” Helen says when she finally lets Jon breathe. “And lonely. And unstable.”  
  
“I don't think we were supposed to be like this,” Michael tells him.  
  
“You're the only thing that isn't broken,” Helen tells him.  
  
“We don't know what to do.” They say.

 

 

  
They rarely have sex together.  
  
Usually, it's Jon and one of them, while the other watches. Once or twice it's just Jon and Michael or just Jon and Helen, and he's unsure of where the other is. When they have their fights. They're a separate singular entity, and Jon can only assume how hard it must be for them to exist as they do. He would have more pity and compassion if the infighting didn't result in frequent and reckless murder but he is in a sexual relationship with monsters. What is he expecting?  
  
He doesn't tell anyone, though he suspects Elias is at least vaguely aware of the intimate details. Georgie knows he's seeing someone, but that's about it. He doesn't know if the others are aware. He'd rather they weren't.  
  
They don't seem to have a problem touching each other or watching each other.  
  
Jon's pretty sure they have a problem with sharing him, though.  
  
He doesn't mind, one way other the other. It's mostly a situation of who can do what and they're both too dangerous to actually do anything for him. When a hand job is more horrifying then the regular sex he ends up doing most of the work.  
  
And he doesn't mind.  
  
They're careful around him, delicate in a way Michael never used to be. Brushing him with the palms of their hand and kissing with their mouths open so that he can see the teeth- any cuts are shallow.  
  
They're malleable- they're bodies twist to accommodate him, give him room to work.  
  
They insist on fucking him today.  
  
He can only imagine how bad the fight must have been as they both stare at him while he fingers himself open for the first time in years.  
  
He was always embarrassed when Georgie watched him, and he's embarrassed when they do now. His face feels hot. He's tight, obviously, and some part of him worries that they're growing impatient- but now. It seems they're just as content to listen to him try and keep his moans to himself as they are to stare at where his fingers disappear into him.  
  
And that's- better than nothing, he guesses. The whole thing is kind of stressful if he's forced to be honest.  
  
They ask questions, and he answers in short, clipped responses because while he might believe it to be genuine curiosity from Helen, he knows for a fact Michael is just doing it because he likes to watch Jon struggle.  
  
When he tells them it's as good as it's going to get, they get up on the bed with him, and Michael's hands dig into his thighs, pricking until beads of red fall onto his sheets. He tells them the entire process has to be slow because his insides aren't a vacuum and they laugh, both of them. That's rare too. Helen kisses his concerns away, and Michael slowly lowers him down until Jon feels something prodding at him.  
  
He wasn't even aware they got aroused until this point. Michael's cock is bigger then he assumed Michael Shelley's would be, but that's his fault. It stretches him, and it burns with that pleasant sense of fullness, and he sinks down on it slowly. Michael's head rests on his shoulders while Helen gets into his lap and sinks down on him in turn.  
  
This is about as close as they could ever stand to get, on either side of Jon while he anguished in the middle, the only one of them who actually got anything out of this.  
  
They move at the same time, and Jon feels like might actually die.  
  
It knocks the wind out of him.  
  
Helen, for her efforts, tries to be slow. Michael doesn't even pretend to. She isn't wet, she isn't much of anything really, other than eager to kiss him. Michael mimics what Jon does when he fucks Michael, which is fine but it isn't really directed at anything in particular. Jon is left in the middle being pushed down on Michael's cock by Helen and pushed up into Helen's cunt by Michael.  
  
Despite this, he feels something coil and tighten in his stomach. He puts arms around Helen's shoulders and rolls his own hips down, getting Michael to hit the bundle of nerves he wants him to hit.  
  
He knows it's over as soon as he comes. They're not really a multiple rounds type of a person.  
  
He feels like he's burning when Helen kisses him, and her tongue brushes the back of his throat and just as much when Michael whispers how good he tastes to them.  
  
They bite his shoulders, one on each side, hard enough to break skin and hard enough the bruise and that's what pushes him over the edge to spill into her.  
  
He feels empty when they let him fall on the bed, bone tired, filthy.  
  
They both kiss him before they're gone again and a door slams shut somewhere in his living room.  
  
His phone buzzes on the nightstand, a message from Elias that he doesn't need to open to know that his boss is chiding him for sleeping with the enemy. Always interesting to know why Elias bothers waiting to the end of their sessions to tell him to stop with the poor behavior unbecoming of the Institute.  
  
Why is everyone in his life a voyeur?

 

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always encouraged and very very very appreciated
> 
> [ come talk to me ](http://iamalivenow.tumblr.com/)


End file.
